Blood and Shadow - Pt. 1

Amy let out a guttural yell of triumph to greet the New York skyline. She didn’t recognize her own voice or where the scream had even come from, but it felt right. Standing on the roof of the old apartment building with Miguel’s blood covering her hands, she finally felt free. Forcing herself to breath would have to happen before she could tell her body to move away. She had been standing over him with the pistol in her hand. The butt of the handle was caked in her victim’s blood and still had droplets falling from it before she let it fall and make a loud clank against the roof’s uneven surface.

 She didn’t want to look at his body—his long beautiful hair now matted across his face with blood where there weren’t chunks of his skull missing, she had hit him a lot—Something drew her to look though, a stronger sense of closure perhaps. He had lowered his guard, stilled his hand, and this was what he got for it with his head cracked open and his blood pooling around his head.

Amy was about to turn away when she realized that the blood had not stopped moving around the dead man, it was still expanding outwards. With bubbling strides the thick red liquid stretched and stopped in motions unnatural to its liquid state. In a matter of moments it was all too clear. Underneath the dead leader’s body; his blood had shaped into his symbol. The familiar demonic M-shape scared her and she stumbled back falling to the roof, crying up at the stars.

“No-“

“No, no, no, no—please God no-“

***

Four years ago—at the age of twenty-four, when we know everything—Amy Cast felt that she was on top of the world. She was a tennis instructor with only four real clients; the children of old money that her parents had set her up with. She basically got to play all day and keep Harold Hemingford’s hands away from her skirt when he failed to listen to her tips for the hundredth time. She had graduated from NYU with a degree in physical education and minor in physical therapy—a set of degrees which her neurosurgeon-to-be fiancée had pointed out were useless on multiple occasions, though his father thought those were good pursuits for his sons wife to stay attractive well into her later years. Alexander Hawethorn had been handpicked for her by her parents and his parents had taken some time to approve of her from what she knew. As a gift for agreeing to marry him though she had been given a pretty sizable bank account to see the world and with Alex’ med school studies it was rare she had to see him. Amy had recently traveled to Canada, South Korea, England, and Japan just to see friends, play tennis, and see the world that interested her. Now he was about to finish school though and it was time for part two of her parents master plan. She would be given a lot of zeroes on a rectangular piece of paper for a wedding present and one double the size if they could work together and produce a male grandson, a task her own parents had failed at miserably.

So life had a lot of potential for Amy if she’d play along like all of the other good little spoiled girls who wanted the dream life. Her parents didn’t marry for love, why should she? She may be a bit too modest to say it out loud but Amy knew that she had inherited and surpassed her mother’s beauty and her father’s ability to read people. She was proud of her body and the shape she was in and enjoyed showing it off when it was acceptable. Her GPA wasn’t bad either. The trouble she had with math and Spanish she had sought help with, she even still saw her Spanish tutor from time to time to make sure she didn’t lose a skill she had worked so very hard on to acquire.

For a girl who was handed everything in life it was the things that she had earned that were held closest to her heart. Amy’s mother, Deborah Doefleure Cast, pushed her daughter to be many things; the least of which being a miniature version of herself. There were the dancing lessons, the gymnastics and she especially hated when her mother wanted her to be the next big pop singer. It was the tennis lessons that finally stuck. Everything else that Amy really enjoyed she had started on her own, like the scuba diving and self-defense classes. What really upset Amy though was her mother’s focus on her looks, it was unhealthy to say the least. Amy could never wear the things she wanted to or eat what she wanted if it wasn’t a special occasion like her birthday. Deborah had even tried to convince her daughter to get plastic surgery, offering to pay for it in full. She had found her own way though, as she got older she enjoyed exercising and found a look for her that Deborah could tolerate but was still very attractive.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t have everything going for her like she wanted. Alex was an ass and his idea of a date was a wine he had bought and he would spend too long going on and on about then sex; which his idea of great sex was bragging about how good he was and all of the new techniques he’d try and medical knowledge he would put to use during. Amy found herself asking for cunnilingus a lot, just so he couldn’t talk during. His father had wanted him to be a politician—so he spoke like one—and his mother had taught him how to take any argument Amy might have a valid point on and make it seem insignificant. She had considered cheating on him as a way to end their engagement, a practice that her mother had informed her both parties in the marriage would take up later in life. Perhaps if it happened before their wedding day it would work. Maybe if she could find someone else that her parents approved of like Alex, but that she actually liked? No, that was a fool’s dream.

Temptation was certainly there though. It wasn’t a desire for an orgasm or the thrill of cheating as much as it was the absence of everything that Alex didn’t want to give her. She had spent her life around a certain type of people her entire life and now she was meeting those outside of her own circles. She had met Preston, who other than being a borderline hipster was the right kind of different she was looking for with an outlook she enjoyed hearing. It didn’t hurt that he was cute, made her laugh, and had a determination to be something no matter what he had to do to make it happen. Then there was Miguel Wren, the Spanish tutor who had mastered the knack of capturing her with his dark brown eyes and long flowing hair as well as he rolled his R’s. She had probably learned most everything that Miguel could have taught her about Spanish, at least as much as she would ever need, but she enjoyed seeing him and hearing his stories. He would often talk of his travels, his beliefs, and everything that he wanted to do before life passed him by. So she had her escapes.

Four years was a long time for people to change though. Miguel worked in the language lab when she went there and made sure that he was the one she was assigned for tutoring. She began to pay him for lessons outside of the school though, she wanted less hassle and he could use the money. Their focus was primarily on the studies, but one afternoon they had began to talk about things outside of school and that’s where it all started. He had just recently gotten back from visiting family members in Brazil where he had helped build a home for children and feed the poor. Sounded too good to be true right? He told her about some spiritual retreat he was saving up for. To say what religion Miguel followed would be a misrepresentation of him, his beliefs were taken from many cultures and some of his own desire.

There was no god or gods unless you counted the spirit and will of man. There was no sin except denying your spirit or harming the spirit of another without reason. No hell existed other than the one we create for ourselves, according to Miguel. He stayed in shape but wasn’t really a vegetarian, vegan, straight edge, or kosher. Nothing at least that she could figure out. If anything he just instructed her on how to live better and regret less and would quote philosophies from people she had never heard of. He just smiled at her and listened to her complaints about Alex and her parents.

“You have the ability to travel, to explore yourself. You should take advantage of this while you can.” He would tell her countless times. “Leave these problems of yours behind in the city, be free somewhere else.”

She liked hearing it even if she didn’t take his advice. Over the year after her graduation they met and became closer, staring into each other’s eyes. She knew the danger was building and had even let him kiss her goodbye once, which she didn’t regret. It was the rainy day in July with her hand down his pants clutching her poison that she forced herself to stop and put a bit of a distance between them. If for no other reason than not to prove her mother right before her wedding date, whenever that would be.

Preston was a little different. Preston was difficult. Amy actually has a hard time describing Preston, I can but we’ll get to him later. She however, didn’t realize that the reason she loves him so much is because he grew up in a similar world to hers but rejected it. He knows he doesn’t have a real chance with her so he’s kind of a dick. He also never realized when he would talk down to her sometimes. He didn’t like being called a hipster and pointing out how he was ‘rebelling’ against society just caused him to become defensive. It made her smile though, even if she didn’t understand why.

“I’m not going.”

“Why not Preston,” she sighed.

“Because the play is like masturbation of the arts really,” he poured his practiced line out for her to see. “This thing tonight is so Ruth and Carl can be attention whores and tell each other what great actors they are. You know they also wrote it themselves, you’ll have to hear about that a thousand times with their shit-eating grins increasing so much each time they’ll need to get them surgically removed.”

She laughed with a hand attempting to stifle it. “And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you and Ruth used to be-“

“No, I’m not petty.”

“Just bitter that she’s started doing someone that could further her career?”

He frowned, “and what if I am?”

“Life’s too short to hold on to bitterness.”

“And what idiot told you that, pray tell?”

She shook her head and didn’t answer the question. She instead went back to their little game they would play at whichever bar Preston had picked out that night. It didn’t matter where they were, the two were best at people watching. They would try to guess about their subject’s life. Preston considered himself some-what of a reporter and had gotten pretty good—or really lucky—at guessing little things about the other patrons, especially women. He would make some bold accusation about the woman that could range from the movies she watched and art she liked to where certain piercings might be located and which sexual positions she had mastered. Then the two would argue the scientific method of figuring out how to prove whether Preston’s, or occasionally her, claims were right.

This game resulted in a lot of laughs, owed beers, offended women and Preston getting slapped at least twice that she could recall. When the two weren’t doing this they would attend art shows, poetry readings, or walk about the city looking at architecture even though both knew next to nothing about the subject, Preston pretended to. He was her other escape and she admired him for it. He was old faithful and though she felt close to him she wasn’t afraid of his desire for her. If his personality wasn’t enough to scare her away his opinions on relationships and especially marriage did the trick. Sure, there were times where they would accidently touch or maybe even hold hands. He was protective over her and made fun of the men who tried to hit on her when they were out together, these things could have meant anything though. She hadn’t been as physical with Preston as she had with Miguel.

In her mind that was probably for the best. One temptation was enough after all. Not to even mention that if she allowed herself to realize what could have been between her and Preston she would soon be forced to realize that took away the only person she was comfortable talking to. She didn’t have a lot of friends that she could trust. The girls that she called friends were mostly rich stuck up bitches like herself or artsy hipster girls like April, a relationship based off of a pure hatred for bad coffee houses. The only two of any real meaning that she had currently though were her two white knights.

Amy didn’t really need a lot more friends. She didn’t have that much to be stressed about other than the looming marriage that was still a year or two off at least. Even her grope-happy clients were no real trouble in the grand scheme of things. Yes Amy Cast felt that she was on top of the world and she thought with some good planning and being intelligent as her father wanted and beautiful as her mother demanded she could keep things that way. As an intelligent woman though she knew that some things would have to change, she couldn’t have had any clue exactly how much though.